Kick in the Head
by That70sshowlova
Summary: "She was going to teach me how to dance," he murmured, taking a swig. "We had a date." She gently took the bottle out of his hand and set it on the table. He looked at her, confused, until she stood up and put her hand in his.


_How lucky can one guy be?_

There was static, and then the music swelled, surrounding him. The record spun and he was almost transfixed. Modern technology didn't bother him. It did in the beginning, but Howard Stark's technology had been cutting edge. He was used to adapting, he was a fast learner. Mixed tapes, CDs, iPods, he had learned them all. The record player was familiar, brought back memories, both pleasant and unpleasant.

Dean Martin was recognizable, although the song was not. The song had been recorded after...He looked away. The song was comforting.

_A week next Saturday at the Stork Club. Eight o'clock on the dot. Don't you dare be late. _

The bottle was held tight in his hand. He couldn't get drunk, but he could appreciate the burn in his throat and the warmth in his stomach.

"Be careful, old man. Someone might think you're being nostalgic."

The door had been locked, but he didn't question her methods anymore. He almost missed her, but he heard her light footsteps coming down the hallway. He tipped his bottle to her in acknowledgment, before taking another sip.

_Like a fella once said, ain't that a kick in the head?_

She sat down next to him, plucking the bottle from his hand. She raised an appreciative eyebrow at the label, taking a swallow herself.

They passed the bottle between them, neither saying a word. He had found companionship in her, the least likely of people. Or so the tabloids said. With one female on the team, every issue surrounding them speculated who she was having an affair with next.

When he first met her he was reminded of Peggy, but at that point in his life, everyone reminded him of his past. When he met Stark he was startled. Even when they had argued all he was reminded of was his father.

Now he knew she was nothing like the brunette of his past. Natasha was modern in every sense of the word, and she hadn't treated him differently, carefully. She joked and it was refreshing to be around.

"Is this about the woman in the picture?" she asked.

He glanced at her. Her face was innocent, but he knew better. She knew everything about Peggy Carter, but she was gauging his reaction, just like at the camp. She raised an eyebrow slowly. They both knew the game they were playing.

_I hugged her and she hugged back_

He was lonely and reminiscing, and he was a little surprised at himself at how willing he was to talk about it.

"She was going to teach me how to dance," he murmured, taking a swig. "We had a date."

He didn't further elaborate. She knew why he didn't make it.

She gently took the bottle out of his hand and set it on the table. He looked at her, confused, until she stood up and put her hand in his.

"Natasha," he said slowly. He didn't stand up.

"Afraid you'll step on my toes, old man?"

He smiled. She tugged on his hand. He knew if she wanted she could get him to stand up in more forceful ways, but she was giving him the choice. Or rather, pretending to.

She set his hands on her hips, smirking at him slyly. They both knew his hands wouldn't stray, but she enjoyed making him uncomfortable. She wrapped her arms around his neck, getting him to sway with her.

_If this is just the beginnin', my life is gonna be beautiful. _

They moved in circles. When she got him to loosen up, she slipped one hand off his neck and into his. She dipped him, making him laugh. When he stood back up, he accidentally stepped on her toes.

He grimaced and stopped. He placed one hand on the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Watch your step, grandpa," she joked. She took a step closer to him, looking him in the eyes. She put her hand on his cheek and patted it. "Keep dancing like that and a girl might wind up in the hospital."

"I warned you," he said, although he in fact, did not.

She hummed in reply.

They were close.

He recalled the moment on the escalators, where she had the same sly look in her eyes, right before she kissed him. She was a spy, and a damn good one at that, there could have been other ways to get people to not notice them. Instead, she kissed him.

She leaned in close and his eyes slipped shut. She kissed him, her lips warm on his cheek, her breath smelling like vodka.

He kept his eyes closed. He knew how this ended.

_Tell me quick, ain't that a kick in the head. _

He opened them. She was gone.


End file.
